


Of salty kisses and miraculous magic

by Cleverbreawisekylan



Category: American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: AU, F/F, in which misty is a mermaid, rating will probably go up as more chapters are posted, trying something out here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28218999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleverbreawisekylan/pseuds/Cleverbreawisekylan
Summary: “I was right,” is all Cordelia says.“Right? Right about what, my dear.”Cordelia speaks with more certainly than she’s ever felt in her life. “There are mermaids.”
Relationships: Misty Day/Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at a Foxxay AU. Hopefully I can still keep the two true to their characters. I am very excited about this story though, let me know what you think!

Cordelia Goode is eleven the day her mother walks her to the door of Robichaux’s Academy, not even so much as stepping inside before she is bidding her daughter goodbye. A simple “I’ll be in touch” is the only form of comfort the crying girl gets from her mother. 

She remembers shouting for her as she stomps away, a cigarette curled between her thin fingers, and black hat blocking her face from the warm midday sun. Fiona doesn’t turn around. 

Instead, she’s welcomed by another woman, with a strange voice and pitying eyes. But one that reaches out and wraps her arms around the distraught girl in an unfamiliar, but comforting way. “Will you be my mother now?” she tilts up her head, her question altogether innocent and hopeful. 

The lady – _Myrtle_ – she soon finds out, nods and smiles. “Come this way, my dear. I’ll show you to your room.” 

… 

Said room is large and grand, with a four-post bed being the impressive centrepiece. Luxurious throws and pillows decorate the top, appearing almost welcoming despite the reluctance that spreads through her bones. It may look beautiful, yet looks can be deceiving. Cordelia soon scrunches up her nose at the strange smell that the room exudes, and the way that a chill seems to refuse to leave. Cordelia sighs. It’s a far cry from the City apartment she’s grown used to. 

She strains her ears, head swivelling slightly, and tries to search for the sound of anything other than footsteps around the old manor house. Nothing. Not even a distance car engine. 

Crossing the creaking floor, she settles in front of the closest window, eyes catching sight of the magnificent view. Well, she didn’t have _that_ in LA. From what she remembers on the drive here, the Academy sits atop a large hill, towering over the houses of the small ocean town where it resides. On its intimidating perch, it reveals to Cordelia the raging shores along the horizon, from a busting seaside town on the right to a series of caves and jagged, battered cliffs to her left. 

Nestled between her and wide ocean lays her new home until . . . well, until Fiona comes back. 

Straightening her back with determination, she pushes away the remaining tears and thinks about how silly she’s been for crying over her mother. This is a new start, she reasons. A place to finally be known as Cordelia rather than _Fiona’s daughter_. 

That brings a timid, yet daring smile to her lips. 

Her eyes flitter back and forth across the scene before her, first catching sights of a market place, then a small Highstreet with people happily passing by, moving in and out of stores. Each and every one of them glow under the now intense sunshine. Unaffected by its heat, they go about their lives. 

Despite the life and movement before her, Cordelia finds herself staring out to the lasting ocean once more. It’s not the first time she’s seen the sea. Often Fiona had dragged her along to beaches and left her be as she fawned over shirtless men nearby. The waters had always seemed so blue there, with soft waves waning and waxing over her timid toes as she stepped into the water. 

There is nothing soft about the way that this shore moves, with a symphony of crashes and dips in the restless surface. They hit the beach with the same tenacity as they do the eroded cliffs, and she wonders how both haven’t succumbed to its strength. 

Yet they stand defiant in its wake. 

Cordelia reaches out to open her window, never taking her eyes from the choppy waves. When the sea breeze hits her, she doesn’t feel sick as she had done entering the house. She feels excited – _exhilarated_. 

And she swears it is calling out to her. 

… 

“Did mother call?” 

Myrtle peers at her through a particularly narrow beaker that makes her eyes and nose look comically big, then lifts her head. A gloved hand reaches out to brush Cordelia’s straight, blonde hair out of her face. “Not today, Delia. But no worries, I will inform you as soon as she does.” 

_If_ she does. 

“It’s been a month.” She says as a matter of fact. 

“It wouldn’t do you any good to dwell on the timeframe.” Myrtle sets her with a look that she isn’t quite sure how to decipher, only managing to stare back with lips twisting into a confused frown. “You’re here now, my sweet. Maybe not the place of your choice, but you have an opportunity to work on your magic.” 

Cordelia sighs, looking down to her shoes sadly. “I guess so.” 

In all honesty, most of the things that they’ve been learning haven’t exactly held her interest. That doesn’t stop her from being a good, dutiful student, but it’s hard to be excited about magic when the topic at hand is lighting candles and changing the color of paper sheets. 

She wrings her hands nervously as she continues to stare at Myrtle, a question poised on her lips. 

Thankfully, the older witch is rather perceptive and smiles fondly her way. 

“Well, spit it out.” 

The abruptness reminds her of Fiona, but the words aren’t unkind. And they prompt her into action, taking a confident step forward. “I was wonder if you had any books on potions.” 

Myrtle regards her oddly. “Potions?” 

Despite what most people think, the art of brewing potions and other magic concoctions isn’t as popular within Covens as it once was. Most witches seem to prefer the flashier spells and skills, whereas she is quite content to use the ingredients as a vessel for her own delicate powers. Cordelia finds herself nodding eagerly. 

“I might have the odd few in the library.” She waves her hand is said direction casually. “I’m afraid to say that it’s not our most sought after subject.” 

Her shoulders slump in disappointment. “That’s okay. I’ll read what I can.” 

As she’s bidding her farewell, surrounded by an air of sadness, Myrtle suddenly calls out her name. 

“If you’re up for a little trip, I think I know where we can find some potion books.” 

Cordelia instantly allows a smile to burst onto her lips. 

… 

And that’s how she ends up standing outside a musty, old bookstore with the headmistress by her side. They step inside, a bell singing their arrival, and she peers around into the dark corners of the room. It’s as though this place hasn’t seen life – or a _duster_ – for a few good years. 

Myrtle, oddly, seems to blend right in to the aged shelves and bookcases, all displaying an eclectic variety of items, including crystals, small creepy figurines and a series of intricate, locked boxes. As the older woman flutters off to find the owner, Cordelia is left to her own exploring. Despite the musty stench that hangs in the air, she feels welcome in this place. 

With a steady pace around the ripped and wearing carpet, she runs her fingers along the spines of the thick books. Some of the names are written in Latin, gold letters staring back at her. Others, she is relieved to see, are in English. _Shapeshifting, necromancy, magic creatures . . ._

She reads along with growing interest, reaching for the last book she had spied. The cover that must have once been a brilliant blue is dark and faded with age, the corners torn from use. It doesn’t make the hard cover any less impressive, where a mix of varying folklore creatures stare back at her. 

Her fingers buzz under the book’s touch, something that has her gasping in surprise, only to be pulled from her thoughts as Mrytle reappears with a bearded man in tow. “We have found quite the gold mine,” she announces proudly. 

Cordelia hastily pushes the other book back onto the shelf and rushes over to help where she can. “There are so many.” 

“Enough to keep you busy for a while, my child.” 

She feels her eyes widening with glee. “I can have them all?” 

“Why, _of course_.” 

“Oh, thank you.” Before the knows it, the usually reserved girl is throwing herself into the arms of the older witch and clutching tightly. 

Maybe things aren’t going to be so bad here after all. 

… 

And so, she spends most of her spare time nestled away with her piles of stories and information, absorbing each of them with growing interest. Fiona had never nurtured her love of potions and plants – instead she’d openly _mocked_ it. Being able to freely engage in the subject in altogether liberating. 

Unfortunately, other parts of her life don’t come together all so well. 

She struggles with most of the other girls at the Academy - not that they don’t like her, they just don’t seem to bond as well as she’d initially hoped. 

At first, she tries reading in her bedroom, until their giggles and yelling becomes rather distracting. Then, the garden beckons her, and she sits nestled between the magnolias as she breathes in every word of her books. But the groundskeeper is a strange, old man called Spalding who stares at her in the most unsettling way, so she quickly packs that idea in. 

Then, a rather abrupt and forceful thought comes to her. 

“Can I go to the beach?” she asks one morning after breakfast. 

Mrytle recoils at the very idea. “The _beach_ ? Will all that dirt and sand and _water_? Oh, what a horrid place.” 

Thankfully, she doesn’t share her concerns. “I’ll stay away from the water. I just wanted to explore and find somewhere to read in peace.” 

That’s when Mrytle is smiling softly at her again, in the expression she only seems to save for Cordelia. “Okay.” She relents. “If you wish it. Do be back before lunch, though. I wouldn’t want to send a search party out for you, Cordelia.” 

She tries not to let those words unsettle her and quickly makes to pack a small back of supplies. The walk isn’t long, but rather a quick fifteen minutes down the sloping hill, past the Academy’s iron gates and into the bustling town. She weaves in and out of the crowds, overcome by the smell of street foods like hotdogs and burgers. 

Cordelia isn’t the only one stepping foot onto the beach that morning. With the sun beginning its ascent into the sky and sparkling out onto the ocean’s surface, many families flock to get a few hours of relaxation. 

Her feet carry her away from the others to a thin section of the beach where the dunes become higher and grasses melt into the ripples of sand. She’s about to sit down when she notices a teenage couple making rather good use of their privacy. Shocked and embarrassed, she rushes past them with pink cheeks, clutching the book to her chest. 

So much for finding her own spot. 

The gray, sharp cliff edges stare back at her, refusing her any entrance. Pursing her lips together in annoyance, she glares to the rocks with hair gently blowing in the breeze. All set to retrace her tracks, she spins on the spot – _not_ before spying something that causes her to give pause. 

A small pathway, barely visible until she approaches it with interest, where the water doesn’t quite manage to touch the mossy walls of the cliffs. It’s thin, she ponders; only barely room for her small feet to stand side by side, but something about it beckons her forehead. Her magic hums in a way that brings a tentative smile to her lips, and she listens. 

The book is protectively placed in her bag before she steps onto the rocks, almost ready to abort as soon as she realizes how slippery the trail ahead is. But with careful steps and hands gripping any crevices or cracks that the rocks offer, she makes her way around. 

As she turns the corner, the wind hits her like a slap in the face, salty air invading her system before she even has time to react. Undeterred, she blinks open her stinging eyes and smiles pleasantly at the sight of a hidden beach, a small stretch of soft sand and flat rocks that welcome her with open arms. It sits nestled between high structures, catching rays of sunshine every now and then. 

Cordelia jumps down and moves to where small rock pools have formed, marvelling at the crystal clear waters and small sea creatures nestled inside. With a satisfied sigh, she perches herself on the end of the rocks with her back to the smoothest of walls she can find. The sound of approaching waves cancels out the tourists nearby, which she’s rather grateful for, and she quickly busies herself in reading about the healing powers of bay leaves. 

So lost in her blissful world, she doesn’t realize as the hours pass all too easily. At one point, she takes off her shoes and socks, and dips her feet in the deeper part of the waters, swinging them back and forth happily. 

For the first time in over six weeks, she completely forgets the pain of her mother abandoning her here and she revels in the moment. 

When her eyes burn from reading against the bright sun, she lowers the book onto her skirt and simple peers out at the horizon. While the waters close to her buzz with energy, waves crashing over one another in a show of powerful dominance, further out there is a contrasting level of calm where the blues and grays merely ripple. 

In a daring moment, she feels the urge to swim out to the distance, but quickly stops the fleeting thought met with a hint of rationality. She isn’t the strongest swimmer and the last thing she wants is coast guard having to save her in an embarrassing display. Plus, she’s seen _Jaws_ – who knows what could be lurking underneath the surface? 

Cordelia sighs, toying with the idea of returning home. Her growling stomach settles the deal for her and, once packed, she begins the tricky walk around the thin edge of the cliffside. With the sun having dried the damp walls, she manages to keep hold much better this time. Her fingers only falter when she throws a glance out at the vast ocean. 

Movement in the distance holds her gaze, then a flash of emerald and turquoise dazzle her eyes as a tail curls gently breaks the still surface before it’s gone. A few bubbles are the only thing that it leaves in its wake. 

She frowns, having never come across a fish that color, but quickly turns her head. 

The girl doesn’t think about the mysterious tail until hours later when she’s lay in her warm bath, watching her toes disturb the water. 

… 

Cordelia visits the secret beach the day after next, this time staying until the evening begins to ease in with brilliant oranges and reds painted across the ocean in a way that fills her with joy. She reads for a short while, but her eyes keep peering closely at the water without her even thinking about it. 

Eventually, she grows weary of reading, but isn’t quite ready to go home, and so just observes the world around her. She still misses the bustling life she’s left behind, but a part of her thinks she could get used to this. Her own company is something she’s long grown used to, and it certainly doesn’t _hurt_ to be in such a beautiful place. 

Pushing her book aside, she moves to rest on her stomach and glances into the deepest part of water before her. The level is rising, tides making their way back home onto the beach; she knows that she doesn’t have long until her pathway will be fully submerged. Yet she hangs on for those few minutes more and just _stares_. 

While the rock pools host water clear as day, she can only see a few inches into this part of the ocean before it becomes blurry with debris and drifting seaweed. Pursing her lips with thought, she struggles with the tinge of disappointment that washes over her. The increasing cold causes her skin to prickle and her muscles shiver. 

The desire to see further grows as a quiet whisper in her mind, until it’s a shout so loud that she couldn’t refuse if she wanted to. Cordelia wracks her brain of any spell that could possibly help her, suddenly realizing that she hasn’t paid an awful lot of attention in her classes over the past couple of weeks. Thankfully, one idea does pop into her mind. She mutters the words with deep concentration, mouth moving with extra care as she tries to perfect the enunciation. 

Not long after, light seems to _glow_ from her finger tips. Dim at first, but growing stronger with every second, the warm yellow luminescence spreads through the water until she can see fish flittering away from it. She smiles, even when she’s unable to maintain the spell and she’s blinking against the ever darkening sky once more. 

But her skin burns under a gaze other than the descending sun’s. Cordelia throws up her head as though someone has just punched her, eyes scanning around for the source of the stare she’d felt. All she can see is the lapping waves and seabirds coming to land on the water with a loud squawk. 

_Weird._

She continues to stare until she knows she _has_ to leave or get an earful from Myrtle. 

The entire time she is retreating from the secluded area, she can’t shake the feeling that she’s being watched. 

… 

The next time she visits, she plans to be prepared. 

With her usual permission to venture off for the day, she first stops by the store Myrtle had taken her into not too long ago. Although without her headmistress, the inside seems altogether more intimidating, especially as the owner regards her with a scowl. 

She slowly tiptoes up to the counter, eyeing him with distrust as he tinkers with an old music box. “Excuse me?” 

His gruff response is all she gets. 

“You don’t have any binoculars, do you?” 

“What for?” He raises his thick, gray specked brows and glowers in her direction. 

Cordelia settles her own frown in his direction. “To _look_ through.” She isn’t sure where the confidence comes from, but she doesn’t dislike it either. 

“I know that, little girl, but what are you looking at?” 

For a moment, she isn’t quite sure what to say, feeling her lips faltering with a response. Until the panic pours from her brain and she has a moment to compose her. “Bird watching.” She says curtly, reigning in her nervousness. 

He wrinkles his forehead in thought, narrowing already beady eyes, until whatever debate he has seems to diminish. “Far corner.” He tilts his head in the other direction, and Cordelia is quick to retreat from him. 

She hums in thought as she stares toward the lines of odd items, finally smiling in success as she sees an old pair of binoculars. They’re cased in brown leather, worn from years of use, but as she adjusts and tests the item, it seems to work just fine. Cordelia readies her to pay when she passes the floor to ceiling bookshelf, eyeing a familiar book just as she had done a few weeks ago. A nagging feeling pushing to the forefront of her mind, and without allowing herself to decide otherwise, she reaches for the book. 

As she reaches the till, she finds herself the subject of another strange glare. 

“You know that we have bird watching books?” 

She straightens herself primly and pushes the _magical_ _creatures_ hardback forward. “Just those two, thanks.” 

… 

“Fiona sent a letter,” Myrtle appears in the kitchen as she’s eating her breakfast alongside a couple of the girls. Their chatter had been pleasant enough but she is thankful for the distraction. With a mumbled _thank you_ she takes hold of the envelope and moves to find a more private spot. 

_Cordelia,_

_I will be travelling to New York for the foreseeable future with business._

_This means your stay at Robichaux’s may be longer than expected, but Myrtle has informed me that you’ve settled in nicely. I hope your magic is improved and I don’t have to be embarrassed any more._

_I will try to visit in September for your birthday._

_Fiona_

She stares to the neat cursive with an emptiness beginning to gnaw at her insides. What she feared is beginning to take route, and she knows this is just the start; she’s going to be stuck here in _Massachusetts_ of all places, stuck in the Academy until she comes of age. Sighing audibly, she reads the emotion void letter over and over, wondering how long it had taken for Fiona to scribble it together. She’s surprised that she even remembers she has a daughter, let alone _wrote_ to her. 

With a growing rage inside, she crumples up the note and throws it into the fireplace, eyes darkening. 

… 

The distance from her mother is quickly shoved down on her priority list as she walks to the beach that Saturday. Despite Myrtle’s complaints of her tracking sand through the house, she continues to go to her safe spot every few days, if only to clear her head. Plus, the intrigue grows with each visit. 

On more than one occasion she feels as though the sea is spying her way, always managing to duck from her curious gaze as she seeks the source. 

She begins to navigate the path with ease, gaining muscle memory of the safest way to cross. Then she lays in the same spot, normally with a new book and sometimes with her iPod blaring music into one ear. Cordelia keeps the other free, lulled by the sound of the constant water movement and wind just missing her in the nestled corner. 

Movement captures her gaze and she’s up in an instant, ready with her binoculars until she spies that it’s just two children playing on an inflatable. Shoulders slumping, she heaves in a sigh and plops down to the rocks rather painfully. 

But then there’s something _else_. 

It happens so quickly that she only manages to catch the last few seconds of the familiar tail arched above the water as it flips, sending speckles of the sea in all directions. It catches the sunlight in its scales which glitter likes diamonds even from such a distance. 

Cordelia stands, absolutely mesmerized. 

The creature is gone all too quickly beneath the surface where she can’t follow, though she briefly _thinks_ about it. She stands, clutching the binoculars and hoping that she is gifted with one more sighting. 

She isn’t. 

As she walks back to her stoop, she notices that her heart is beating excitedly, especially as she peers down at the book she’d been reading. The pages shake back and forth in the wind as she approaches, deciding on one about half way through when Cordelia comes to a stop. 

The words that stare across at her cause her to such in a sharp breath. 

_Mermaids_. 

She throws a glance back over her shoulder and then back to the book once more, fingers trembling. 

When she gets home, she finds Myrtle fussing over the roses in the front garden. “Mermaids?” She exclaims, pruning away at the stems. “What has given you such an idea, my child?” 

“I saw something.” She shakes her head softly, beginning to doubt if she’s imagined all of this. “Something in the ocean, and there I was reading about mystical creatures.” 

“You think if there were _mermaids_ in the Atlantic Ocean then we wouldn’t know about it?” 

She peers down, sheepishly. “I suppose so.” 

And with her tail between her legs, she retreats up to her room. Her sleep refuses to come that night as ideas swirl around her mind, the first and foremost being that all the other witches _hate_ the beach, so how would they know about what lives out there? 

Cordelia knows in her heart of hearts that she’s onto something. She can feel it in her magic. 

… 

Trusting her gut seems to be the right thing, because she sees the tail on more than one occasion, sometimes alongside the flash of skin. 

“ _Hello_?” She calls out when she spies it near the deeper waters to her left, before it’s gone. 

She waits for her voice to stop echoing. 

“Who’s there?” 

But there’s no answer, and she wonders if there ever will be. 

… 

Fiona doesn’t appear on her birthday. 

She’d been preparing herself for the inevitable; that doesn’t stop it from stinging any less. Despite the initial disappointment, Myrtle pulls out all the stops and throws a small party. The usually quiet Academy is filled with music and laughter as the girls celebrate – for once she feels truly involved with the others, some of whom actually gift her small trinkets. A friendship bracelet, a book about herbology and a new notebook to name a few. 

Turns out, Fiona does at least send her a gift. Cordelia stares at the diamond earrings with a look of distaste and sadness before she clasps the box shut in annoyance. 

Days later, she throws them angrily into the ocean, so engulfed in her emotions that she doesn’t look for her mysterious sea creature. 

… 

She falls asleep with the warm evening sun gently sitting against her skin. 

When she wakes, there’s sand in her hair and between her toes, but she struggles to care. What she _does_ notice, however, is that the sea is definitely much higher than it had been before her impromptu nap. 

“Oh no.” She realizes with a sinking feeling that her exit is now a good few feet underwater. On her feet in an instant, she gathers her things and runs against the saturated sand as fast as she can. Sea water on the rocks makes it a slippery and nerve wrecking experience as she clings to the wall with just as much care as she had the first time. 

Her teeth clench together tightly in concentration while she tries to ignore the way the water wraps coldly up to her waist. 

Each step is tentative, making sure that she has her footing before even daring to shift her weight. Unfortunately, this gives the ocean more time to push against her, strongly wrapping around her torso and trying to coax her with it. 

She's almost there now, able to spy the stretch of beach staring out before her, and she resists the urge to cry in joy. So keen to be on dry land, she picks up her pace, only to realize her folly moments later as her foot slips against a stray patch of sea weed. Cordelia is throws backwards against the surface, falling beneath it all too quick in a dizzying blink. 

Her hands clasp for anything solid, only to find fast moving water slipping through her fingers. Winded, she attempts to right herself in the water, legs pushing against the strong current that carries her backwards with it. The direction changes before she can adjust, sending her spiralling toward the hard cliffs she’d just been standing on. As she is thrown against it, the air is knocked out of her, and her head dips under the water once more. 

Cordelia struggles for breath, flailing her arms in _any_ direction in hopes that she can make her way back to the beach. Her now sodden clothes clutch tightly at her skin, making it more difficult for her to move herself through the waves. All she can hear is the crashing of water and the beating of her own erratic heart, while the salty water stings her eyes and throat. 

“ _Help_ !” she calls out in vain, knowing most people will have left the beach by now. But maybe someone, _somewhere,_ will appear. She cries out again, only to get a mouth full of sea water. 

Then a powerful set of arms wrap around her waist, pulling her _impossibly_ quick through the water. Cordelia is spluttering and coughing so much that she can barely react, only scrunching her eyes shut to protect that from the way they burn. 

When she does open them, ever so briefly, she spies blonde hair and gasps at the _sight_ of that tail, possibly the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. Up close, she sees golds and purples hidden beneath the more prominent colors, and she marvels at how each scale dances so beautifully in synchronization. If she didn’t have any breath before, she definitely doesn’t have any now. 

Then there’s land beneath her body and she weakly pulls herself up onto the dry sand of the beach. She throws herself down, relieved and grateful and so _happy_ to be out of the water. But as much as she wants to celebrate being alive, there are more pressing matters, and she throws her gaze in the direction of the water. 

In the distance, she sees her hero dive under the water. 

“ _Thank you!_ ” 

She calls, wondering if they can hear her words, or if they can even understand them. Cordelia doesn’t care. She just needs to say it. 

Exhausted, she sits on the beach until her legs stop wobbling and she remembers how to breathe. The walk home seems to last an eternity. When she steps through the door, Myrtle regards her with a gasp and a fuss, asking the bedraggled twelve year old what has happened. 

“I was right,” is all Cordelia says. 

“Right? Right about what, my dear.” 

Cordelia speaks with more certainly than she’s ever felt in her life. “There _are_ mermaids.” 


	2. ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's read this so far. Not sure how long it's going to be but it will be a journey for all of us I'm sure. Hope you enjoy! :)

Frustratingly, she doesn’t see anything on the beach for weeks afterwards, no matter how many times her eyes scan against the dim horizon. As the summer season comes to an end, the beach becomes quieter with each passing day, and the cold begins to settle over the small town all too quickly like a passing cloud.

Soon, she struggles to stay as long as she once did, with warm winds giving way to bitter cold, so cold that her ears sting and her fingers begin to tremble even when hidden inside her coat pocket. Myrtle, in a more motherly way than she’s used to, insists that she stay at the Academy most days. The older woman pretends not to notice Cordelia’s sulking at this. 

Instead, she tries to busy her student with more books than she could read and work to fill her days; she even goes as far as setting up a small greenhouse just off the back of the manor home. She fits it with dim lighting and small windows, alongside a cacophony of equipment for the young witch to explore her powers. And, with Cordelia’s help, the insides are littered with all kinds of plants, interiors painted her favorite colors, and her sanctuary is soon finished. 

Truth be told, Cordelia is rather pleased for the distraction. 

Because the weeks roll on, and on the rare days she does visit the beach for an hour or so, wrapped up in every layer that will fit her, she sees _nothing_. 

And she begins to wonder if Myrtle has been right all along. Has she been seeing what she _wants_ to see? 

… 

Christmas arrives, then January. Along with them comes an abundance of snow. 

It’s something that she’s never actually seen before, and it leaves her in absolute awe, especially as she pads out into the garden one morning to stare at the freshly fallen blanket of white. She is wearing boots over her pajamas, feeling like a giddy child rather than a blossoming teen, and with a grin she steps forward. Beneath her feet the snow crunches quietly, finding its new compact form. 

As she treads further out into the cold, body shivering from both the temperature and excitement, she sighs happily. Her breath puffs out before her, quickly dissipating against the still falling snowflakes. 

Cordelia reaches out a hand as though to clutch one, only to watch them melt against her warm skin. She smiles. 

It’s so quiet, so _peaceful_. 

She finds herself peering out over the picturesque town from the gardens. At such height, she can see every inch of roofs and buildings hidden beneath the snow and bright, white sky. Even the beach hasn’t escaped its freefall; the waves fighting against gray piles of slush. 

For a moment, she stares out to that sea. Its voice is quieter than usual, than it had been over the hot summer months, but it still calls out to her. Whispers. She briefly wonders if her savior – who she’s convinced is a mermaid no matter how many times the other girls or Myrtle questions her claims – has ever seen snow either. 

And not long later, the icy weather is beginning to overcome the excitement, forcing her back inside with lasting thoughts of the ocean. 

… 

Under Myrtle’s tutelage, she feels herself easing in magic in a way that she worried she never would. Okay, she _isn’t_ Fiona, and she can’t use mind control to get unwilling victims to do her desires, or bring back anyone from the dead, but she helps the greenhouse to thrive. With those plants, she creates poultices and potions that aid the other girls in a way that makes her feel almost needed. 

“Is it ready?” 

She tilts her head away from where she’s grinding roots together to Myrtle who steps into the room with a flash of red hair and loving smiles. 

Cordelia returns the smile. “Yes, Auntie Myrtle.” She isn't quite sure when she'd started calling the woman by such a name, but neither seem to mind. In fact, she's grown rather fond of it. She hurriedly crosses the brick floor to where the sleeping draught cools in a purple vial. “Should help her sleep through the night.” 

“Thank you, my dear.” 

Though as she returns to her work, she finds Myrtle lingering, staring at her through thick rimmed glasses. Laughing nervously, she looks down. “What’s wrong?” 

Any concerns are quickly brushed away with the wave of a hand. “Oh, nothing at all.” She says softly. “Only, I was thinking about how much you’ve changed in such a short time.” Myrtle steps forward, a hand resting on the younger witch’s shoulder. “I know this isn’t where you saw yourself staying, just as I never considered it for myself at your age, but I think the Academy has been good for you.” 

She hears the words with clarity, finding herself matching Myrtle's gaze with a question one of her own. Even if her silent questions don’t get answered, she feels pride swelling inside of her in a tender way that startles her at first, but she quickly allows. 

Myrtle doesn’t dwell, and she doesn’t mind. 

As she leaves with the potion is hand, Cordelia moves from her work with plants to the pile of books beside her. She throws one final glance to the door and happily affirms that she is alone once more. Regarding the books with excitement, she first checks the open page of the top volume, then stares to the calendar tucked away behind some of the larger leaves. There is a giddy bounce in her step as she grabs the current page – each of the dates neatly crossed out – and flips it over onto April. 

She does so with the widest of smiles, then eagerly grabs her packed bag and sets out a familiar walk out of the Academy. 

Cordelia had almost given up hope on her search, with no sightings and no one to validate her claims, she’d grown rather disheartened. Until a late night reading session in one of the library books had instilled the kind of elation and hope and curiosity in her that sometimes forgets is there. For she’d learned something rather ground-breaking, that explains why a mermaid of all creatures wouldn’t be lingering in the cold Atlantic waters of the Massachusetts coast. 

Because mermaids _migrate_. 

… 

The Spring sunshine feels like a blessing after so many dim, cloudy days in the small town, and she can barely keep the happiness from her expression as she follows the familiar path. 

Thankfully, her secluded spot of the beach seems to have returned to life after the harsh winter, with sea spray hitting her keenly upon her arrival as though an old friend saying hello. Cordelia takes a long, deep breath as she sits down, and she waits. Her perch atop the rocks is slightly precarious as she leans forward over to get the best vantage point she can. 

Even with her binoculars, she sees nothing but water. 

Cursing under her breath, Cordelia wonders _why_ she’d been so sure that she’ll see something. As the daughter of Fiona Goode, she quickly learned how to expect disappointment. And yet, here she is, hoping for nothing short of a miracle. She puts her knotted stomach down to nerves, fingers wringing tightly at the leather of the binoculars. 

Time passes. 

To kill said time, she mindlessly practises some of the simpler spells that had kept her busy in the short winter days. With magic tingling in her fingertips, she lies flat against the bumpy rocks and stares into one of the rock pools. She twirls her finger, watching the water swirl in unison until it coaxes the plants and sea life gently with its movement. 

Now, she closes her eyes and focuses her gifts as she has done many a time. Determination seeping into her veins, she decides to try a light spell. Frustratingly, it’s something she can only maintain for a few seconds, despite how much practise she puts into it. But that’s always in the confines of the house; there’s something refreshing about being in this small, hidden spot that makes her insides vibrate with exhilaration. 

Warmth floods through her hands, right to the very tip and floods out eagerly in a display of light that she doesn’t need to open her eyes to see. When she does tentatively peek one chocolate eye open, she sighs softly with a smile as it highlights every corner of the small rock pool, seeping life into even the deepest crevices. Rather than shy away from the glittery glow, the tiny creatures inside curiously inch closer, as though the magic invites them like the sun invites life under its welcoming gaze. 

Cordelia lets the light grow brighter. 

“ _How are you_ _doin_ _’ that?_ ” 

At the sound of a voice behind her, the witch practically jumps from her skin and rolls backwards in a display of clumsiness. “ **_Argh_ **!” Her feet find themselves submerged in water while the palm of her hand catches the sharp edge of a rock and suddenly throbs in pain. The feeling of content that had previously washed over her is now usurped by a pulsing heartbeat and painful, scratched limbs. 

She brushes the sand out of her tangled hair and shoots a glance to the person who had startled her so. 

Well, she says _person_ , but . . . 

A girl holds herself confidently against the dark rocks at the deepest part of the water, wet fingers clutching on tightly. She’s young, younger than Cordelia though not by much. Her delicate, oval face is framed by a mop of messy, blonde hair that’s still dripping water at the ends. For a moment, Cordelia finds herself staring into a pair of the bluest eyes she’s ever seen, unable to tear her gaze away. 

But eventually, something else catches her attention. 

Breath catching in her throat, Cordelia peers down toward the tail that gently pokes out from the water, just as beautiful and mesmerizing as she remembers, especially now that she has the time to truly appreciate it. 

And she isn’t sure how long she just looks at the mermaid with mouth agape and eyes wide, but it must be a long time because the girl narrows her eyes curiously, thin lips twitching into the sweetest of smiles. “Are you okay?” 

“Y - you’re _real_.” 

“Well, of course I’m real.” The words are spoken in a way Cordelia’s never heard before, lips wrapping around the words with emphasis with a soft, Cajun accent that catches off guard in the best of ways. She doesn’t know _how_ she thought the girl would sound, but this is definitely far from it. 

Still reeling, she pulls herself up into a shaky sitting position, and she just _stares_. 

“You’re a mermaid.” 

The blonde’s grin grows even wider, like she’s in on some sort of joke. “Yeah.” 

She struggles to steady her breath, then sets a hand over her racing heart while her mind tries to rationalize what she’s only dared to be true. “Somebody pinch me.” 

A second later, she feels a painful pinch on her wrist. 

“ _Ow_.” She recoils. “What did you do that for?” 

“. . . you told me to?” 

Frowning, she rubs the now sore spot on her skin and observes the strange yet miraculous sight in front of her. 

For a moment, she inwardly celebrates that fact that she is right, and mermaids are real. No one had believed her but she knew all along! And now staring back at her is the most beautiful evidence of that fact; if only there was anyone here to prove it to. Yet a part of her enjoys that fact that she has this discovery all to herself. 

“How did you do that stuff?” 

Cordelia has to pull herself abruptly from her spinning thoughts to blink at the mermaid, who only tilts her head curiously. As she does so, the sun catches in her already golden hair and shines like a halo. The witch struggles for her breath, just for a moment.

“With the light.” She elaborates when Cordelia doesn’t reply. 

“ _Oh_ .” The girl steadies herself further in her seat, all too aware that her hand is still rather painful and now visibly bleeding – oh well, it's the _least_ of her priorities. “I - um,” she almost goes to cover herself with a rehearsed lie, knowing all too well that their secrets of magic are to be kept just that; _secret_ . Then she realizes with a giddy thought that she is talking to a _mermaid_. Magic is hardly going to be a shock to such a mystical creature. “I’m a witch.” 

“A witch?” Her words are laced with excitement. “See! I _knew_ when I saw you there was something different about you.” Eyes beaming with pride, she lays her chin on the rocks gently and continues to gaze at her with interest. 

She stills, trying her best not to dwell on the words. No matter how much she tries, one question pushes against her lips and eventually wins. “You were watching _me_?” 

Without an ounce of guilt, the mermaid nods. 

Heart beginning to race, she lets out a nervous chuckle. “I thought I was the one watching you.” She breathes, “no one believed me that you were real.” 

Quickly – so quickly that she wouldn’t haven’t noticed if her gaze wasn’t intent on the girl in the water – panic flashes across her eyes. “You told others about me?” 

“Only my Auntie Myrtle.” She starts cautiously, noticing the way that the mermaid is suddenly more erect, looking as though she’s ready to flee at any moment. “To be quite honest, she thinks me slightly mad.” 

“Are you?” The question is teasingly asked, relaxing.

Cordelia finds herself instantly at ease again, even so much as inching forward to wrap herself in the girl’s light aura. She lets out an airy laugh. “You know, I’m not entirely sure. I’m talking to a _mermaid_.” 

“And?” 

“And as far as I know, no one else has met a mermaid before.” She says breathlessly, still carrying the tone of disbelief. 

There’s a long pause. “Do you want me to pinch ya again?” 

She shakes her head vehemently. “ _No_.” Her frown deepens as it causes the mermaid to wince slightly, so she quickly softens her expression. “I’m sorry. I just – that really hurt.” The blonde replies with a sheepish smile that Cordelia is unable to not return. 

Without thinking, she inches closer, her curiosity getting the better of her as she spies the tail just below the surface, treading back and forth to help keep the girl afloat. The water seems clearer today, as if the mermaid’s presence improves everything it touches. It gives Cordelia the chance to take in every single detail of the tail, from the way the emerald and turquoise scales seem to alternate to create a beautiful pattern, to the gold streaks that curve down toward the end fins. These are intricate structures that float easily through the water. In their translucent nature, Cordelia can see tiny red fish swimming behind the shimmering blue curtains of fins. 

She continues to narrow the gap, an air of wonder wrapping around her. Soon, she is so near that there is merely a foot between them. The mermaid, too, seems to be taking in their differences, blue eyes staring back and moving over Cordelia’s form. Cordelia is unable to stop herself from lifting a hand and beginning to reach it down toward her long tail, wondering if she’s going a step too far. 

Closer, closer . . . _so close._

Then, her question is answered as a wet hand clutches onto her and tugs it in the opposite direction. _Dammit_. 

The hand doesn’t let go of hers. She turns to the mermaid, guiltily, frowning and with her heart stuck in her throat. 

Thankfully, the girl finds words where Cordelia struggles. “You’re bleeding.” 

Cordelia peeks open an eye at the blonde (she hadn’t even noticed they were _closed_ ) and stares at her with bewilderment. “Excuse me?” 

“Your hand.” The mermaid is holding her hand to the sunlight in every which way, expertly moving herself around it as well, even with her free hand keeping her steady in position. 

She blinks, staring as the blood wells in the small but deep cut that also welcomes the sand and dirt. All too quickly, it’s being lowered into the salt water by a gentle touch and caring hums. “What are you doing?” 

“ _Shhh_. I need to concentrate.” 

At first her hand stings, blood floating upwards to the surface, until she feels a prickling heat surround her palm. Its energy focuses on the wound, which burns and aches for all of two seconds before the most _wonderful_ of sensations appears. Almost a tickle, like feeling someone’s warm breath on her skin. Cordelia sighs despite herself, watching in amazement. The way the warmth wraps around the pair is something she's never experienced before, sending her world into a frenzy where nothing seems to make sense for those few moments - fish fly, cats chase after dogs, and the day becomes as cold as night. If the mermaid feels strange too, she doesn't let Cordelia see it. 

Instead, she's smiling, and gingerly returning Cordelia’s hand to her. She stares with those mesmerising blue orbs, awaiting a response. 

The witch wiggles her fingers as though they aren’t hers, then runs her index finger over where the cut had once been. All she can see is the small line in its memory, most of the skin healed good as new. Blinking from her palm to the mermaid, she notices the girl is visibly tired yet brimming with eagerness. “Thank you.” _I didn’t know mermaids could do that._

“You’re welcome, Miss.” 

“Cordelia.” She offers, having realized her own rudeness at not introducing herself. She supposes she can be forgiven though - it’s not every day that someone meets a mermaid. 

“Miss Cordelia.” 

The way it falls so delicately and lightly off her lips makes it feel like they’ve known each other for years. 

Grinning, the mermaid readjusts herself into a more comfortable position on the rough edge. “I’m Misty.” 

She decides there and then that the name definitely suits her. 

“I have so many questions, Misty.” She admits, unsure of where to begin. She’s leaning closer again without any real effort to do so, but she doesn’t stop herself. Misty, for her part, doesn’t seem to mind. 

Her expression is delicate and inviting, and Cordelia watches as her hair begins to frizz in its now semi dry state – some of the tendrils are already eager to curl naturally around her face. 

“I’ve seen you before.” She starts, as if they both don’t know. “I would come to the beach every other day and search for you. Why have you only just spoken to me now? After all this time?” 

“I shouldn’t have.” 

Cordelia balks. “What do you mean?” 

“We’re not supposed to talk to humans,” Misty whispers in closely, her porcelain skin so near that Cordelia can see the freckles that adorn her nose. 

She scrunches her forehead in thought. “If you’re not supposed to, then why have you? Why are you talking to me right now?” 

A smile is growing on Misty’s face, wickedly so, and Cordelia gulps. 

“ _I couldn’t help myself_.” 

… 

She quietly excuses her after dinner, returning to the study to sit and absorb the events of the day. For a moment, she goes to actually pinch herself once again, only to see the small round bruise left by Misty only a few hours prior. Cordelia smiles fondly at it. 

“Will you be back?” Misty had been quick to ask upon her exit. 

She had all too eagerly nodded in response. “Not tomorrow, but the day after, I promise.” 

Cordelia finds herself literally counting down the hours until then. 

… 

“What’s that?” 

This time when Misty appears, Cordelia is half way through one of her books, a novel today as opposed to one from her magical studies. She smiles toward the mermaid who sits at the same perch as a couple days prior and then marks her page with the small black ribbon. 

“It’s a book,” she explains, tying her hair back as the winds begin to pick up. 

Misty nods as though that clarifies it all, though it doesn’t do anything to shed the way her lips twist unsurely and her thin brows weave within one another. 

Grinning, Cordelia moves closer to show it to her. “Look. It has writing inside of it – sometimes they have information and other times stories. Some books even have recipes and things like that inside.” She idly flicks through the pages to allow the curious mermaid to glance inside, tugging it away when she reaches a dripping hand toward it. “Uh, you can’t get it wet.” 

She frowns. “Why not?” 

“It - you just can’t. It’s made out of paper.” 

“What’s paper?” 

Cordelia laughs. “Something that you write on.” 

“That you can’t get wet?” She says the words as though the very idea of something unable to get wet is just ludicrous, though Cordelia supposes when you live underwater it probably _is_. 

She shakes her head no. Misty purses her lips thoughtfully, then bounces herself on strong biceps. “What else can’t you get wet?” 

Incredulity floods her features. “Lots of things. If I were to name them all, we’d be here all day.” 

“That’s fine.” 

Shifting, she crosses her legs and smiles. “How about I get to ask you a question now?” 

Misty nods her agreement. 

“Why aren’t mermaids supposed to talk with humans?” 

There is a pause for the longest of moments as Misty suddenly looks a lot younger than she is, struggling with the right way to answer the question. Her gaze moves to the left, head tilting with it. If Cordelia strains her ears, she can hear the bustling beach not too far from them. “We’re just not s’posed to.” 

“Who says so?” 

She shrugs. “The Elders.” 

“Has it always been that way?” 

“As long as I remember.” Misty explains. “It’s the law – most of my folk wouldn’t even dare leave the safety of our waters for fear of getting hurt.” 

She feels curiosity rising within her, itching to ask any and all thoughts that come alongside it. “I wouldn’t hurt you.” Cordelia suddenly says, gaze boring with honesty and intention, and she hopes that Misty can feel every ounce of it. 

The mermaid smiles sweetly, a hand somehow finding her with no difficulty. “I know, Miss Cordelia.” The water bobs around her as she shifts slightly in her spot, tail catching the sunlight every so often. “You’re different.” 

Just as she’s about to speak, Misty continues. “I could _feel_ it; feel you. When I was out there, swimmin out in the shallows suddenly my hands started burnin’ and my teeth were chatterin’. The closer I got, the stronger the feelin’ was – then I saw you, sat out with one of those books.” Her smile grows almost teasing and Cordelia turns to hide the pink in her cheeks. 

“Have you ever felt like that before?” She questions nervously. 

“No.” 

She gulps now, thinking. “Maybe you could feel my magic.” She suggests, “we witches can project it outwards sometimes.” 

Misty is grinning again, listening intently. “Tell me more about witches.” 

“What do you want to know?” 

“ _Everything_.” She insists. “I've never had a friend who’s a witch before.” 

A soft chuckle bubbles over her lips, and inwardly she jumps for joy at the way that Misty calls her a _friend_. 

...

"Oh Cordelia, you're traipsing sand all through the house." Myrtle grumbles, "I thought this strange obsession with the shores was over."

"I was just walking." She lies. 

Myrtle's eyes narrow, jaw setting into a firm, straight line. "Unlike your mother, you are a terrible liar, my child." 

She stiffens, and continues walking. Before meeting Misty, she'd been all too eager to share her fantasies and hopes of certain mystical creatures, but the mermaid's stark words still ring in her brain. Cordelia feels the urge to protect her strongly, even if it means allowing people to think that she was lost in her childish imagination. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

Too wise to probe, Myrtle only tuts a couple more times and sends her up to her room to clean herself up. 

She finds herself smiling absentmindedly, inwardly exploring all the possibilities of her newfound friendship.


End file.
